


scintilla

by brzbloks



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Oisuga Weekend, kinda some violence but not graphic, oisuga are engaged
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:35:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26534461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brzbloks/pseuds/brzbloks
Summary: “pathetic.”
Relationships: Oikawa Tooru/Sugawara Koushi
Comments: 11
Kudos: 87





	scintilla

**Author's Note:**

> oisuga weekend day 1  
> the prompt i chose was 'favourite headcanon'  
> i have a headcanon that suga is a rough sleeper and idk just has a lot of insecurities in general blah blah  
> ive never written a nightmare before so this was fun 
> 
> nightmares and early morning comfort brought to you by breezeblocks and oisuga

_ Hands. They grip Suga everywhere. They grip so tight, so rough. They wrap around his legs, his arms, the sides of his neck. His vision bleary, his throat constricted. The hold on his throat tightens, he lets out a choked sob as stumbles forward. He digs his fingernails into what seems to be the hardwood floor, trying to get away from whatever those  _ _things_ _ are. He feels teeth at his legs, nips and tugs at the back of his ankle. He begins to crawl, bare knees chafing against the ground whilst he hoists his body up on shaky elbows. Suddenly, fingers clench through his hair, viciously latching onto every strand. Nails scrape at his scalp when he feels his head pulled back, neck bared and he feels a defeated groan draw out from the depths of his throat. In a matter of seconds his body slams against the bottom step of the stairwell, the collision jolting sparks of pain up the side of his torso. Hand clutched on the railings, he desperately tries to scramble to his feet only to find his face flat on the floor, the heavy clutch at the back of his neck digging his face into the floorboard. He tries to grab, fight back but the pressure tightens and the intense throbbing in his nose increases. He hears every crack, every splinter, he can even hear the blood oozing onto the floor of his own home. He tastes blood, no, he tastes red. The metallic crimson trickling down his lips, chin.  _

_ He reaches out a shaky hand, trembling fingers grasping at the air until he feels a gentle hold on his wrist, nothing like the harsh and violent tugs he had endured earlier. Suga’s eyes flutter open, squinting through the haziness and the water already leaking through his eyes. He doesn’t taste just blood, he tastes salt now. So bitter he swallows down the gag threatening to spill from the back of his throat. Through the said haziness and water, he sees a light. It engulfs the hallway he’s in, so bright and so white. As quick as it came, the soft weight around his wrist left, dropping Suga’s wrist down in his lap. The other creature’s hold on Suga seemed to have left too, leaving him in the strange hallway.  _

_ “Dad! Look at this one!”  _

_ Suga jerks up at the sound, it seemed like a high pitched squeal. Young, perhaps. Suga doesn’t care. He trips and topples to his feet, ignoring the intense ache in his legs and ribs. He glances around, though, there wasn’t much to look at since everything was so fucking white. Despite the heaviness in his eyelids, he focuses his eyesight on a small gap besides him. He grits his teeth when he hears another squeal, another giggle. He saunters towards the gap and takes in a sharp breath when he fits his body through.  _

_ The kitchen. He’s in his kitchen. He turns to look back at where he came from, jumping slightly by the fact that the light has gone, replaced with the dented kitchen door. He leans in slightly, vision clearer as he focuses on the tiny little dents in the brown paint. They tower up like a ladder, stopping at the height of his bicep. Takeru Oikawa, is the first thing he reads. There are even clearer markings situated next to them. 137cm, 139cm, 140cm, 141cm, 143- _ his mind crashes to a halt. Its a height chart, a height chart that clearly ranges from the ongoing present back to 2012. Why is there a height chart in his kitchen? Who is Takeru? Why does it start from 2012? 2012 was the day he finally decided to move into this very house with Oikawa-

_ Oikawa. _

_ “That’s a great one, spud. Why don’t you show it to your mother?”  _

_ Suga with his eyes drawn wide open and hands resting against his cheeks, turns around. He recognises that voice, and has spent countless years listening to that voice. That sweet, sweet voice. Oikawa- Oikawa, his Oikawa. His breath hitches in his throat. Oikawa, his Oikawa. The same Oikawa who’s sitting at their dining table, morning newspaper in hand as he grins widely, other hand resting on the table. Another hand, a dantier hand, a much more smaller hand rests atop Oikawa’s. That’s when it hits him.  _

_ A hand that isn’t Suga’s, wearing Suga’s very own wedding ring.  _

_ He whimpers as he feels his chest constrict, floods of panic wash over him and he feels himself back up against the door. His fingers struggle to grab for the doorknob, nails scraping against the chipped painted wood. In his moments of hysteria, he freezes, another sob lodged in his throat.  _

_ “Who’s that Dad?”  _

_ Suga forces himself to look back at the pair of joined hands, the silver glint of the pair’s wedding rings. He trails his gaze up. He see’s a woman, faceless. Suga can’t see her features. Then his eyes dart to where the question came from, a young boy sits on the very left, face conditioned into complete confusion as he stares at Suga. He has Oikawa’s eyes is the first thing Suga thinks before he shakes his head, ridding himself of the nasty, vile thoughts. Averting his eyes from the impending gaze of the child, Suga locks eyes with the man at the centre of the table. _

_ Oh that heavenly brown colour, chestnut and cinnamon. The same sweet richness of those eyes glazed with mock and amusement, boring straight into Suga’s soul. His heart clenches as he makes out the russet hair and the tilted smirk, it was indeed, non other than Oikawa.  _

_ “Who is he talking about, dear?” The woman seated at Oikawa’s side questions.  _

_ “Nothing dear,” Oikawa assures, thumb stroking over her slender fingers. Suga wants to hurl, he wants to scratch out his eyeballs. He wants to scream when he realises that Oikawa is still looking right at him, his smirk wider and dripping with venom. This isn’t his Oikawa, it can’t be. But it is, it is his Oikawa. His Oikawa, kissing another woman, having a child calling him his father. This is his Oikawa, surrounded by his family, a family that he created- a family he should’ve created not with this woman or strange child. A family he should’ve created with Suga.  _

_ Suga sinks to the floor, pulling his knees to his chest as he bawls into the arms wrapped around himself. He can taste the dried blood on the corner of his mouth, the saltwater washing down his eyes. He can feel Oikawa’s hands on his cheeks, the slight callousness of them gripping Suga’s jaw. His head tilts upwards, he comes face to face with Oikawa. Oikawa opens his mouth to reveal a set of pointed teeth turned upwards in a snarl, dripping with saliva and red. Oikawa isn’t Oikawa anymore. He’s a monster. The monster leans into Suga, vice like grip holding his wrists above his head. It chuckles against Suga’s ears, relishing the smaller male’s cries and pleas. Suga struggles and resists, forcing back cries when he feels the fangs sink into his neck, when he feels his flesh being ripped apart and torn. Through screams and chuckles, he makes out a voice, airy and bitter. _

_ “Pathetic.”  _

Suga jolts upwards, grip on the blankets that pool at his waist tight and shaky. He pants heavily and frantically darts his eyes around the room. Rays of orange and pink stream in through the semi-closed blinds and he glances at the alarm clock resting on the bedside. 6:04 AM. Chest heaving and cold sweat running down his back he clutches his forehead, massaging the bridge of his nose. His harsh breaths soften and slow down into a steady rhythm. He inhales deeply through his nose and lightly shakes off the blankets from his legs. 

The pale-haired male lightly taps his hands around, eyes still not adjusted to the subtle darkness of the room. Suga almost snatches his hand away when he comes in contact with something warm and sturdy. He relaxes as soon as he feels movement. Oikawa’s sleeping form turns over slightly, Suga gets a clear view of the side of his face. Sugawara pinches his eyes shut as he lightly trails his fingers up the the side of his fiance’s bicep, though he immediately retaliates when he hears him groan slightly. He shakes his head and swings his legs over the side of his bed, he lightly treads out of their bedroom. Glancing over his shoulder at Oikawa, at his legs sprawled out in every direction and the drool pooling from the corner of his mouth. He wants to laugh at the sight he’d grown ever so accustomed to during the span of their relationship, but his desert of a throat convinces him otherwise. Sugawara closes the door behind him and winces at the little click it makes, he sneaks to the kitchen on pointed toes. 

Dawn breaks through the blinds, light chases any reminiscent darkness away from the kitchen where Suga stands in. The cold sweat still builds on his body, bare feet stick to the white tiles. His chest tightens and the heaviness in his throat returns, he feels the weight of it sink to his feet as he grapples onto the counter. Leveraging himself with shaky fingers and white knuckles. 

_ Steady, _ he thinks to himself,  _ safe and steady.  _

He reprimands himself, he is safe, he is steady. Night terrors, tiny fragments of his imagination glued into something bigger, just there to scare Suga. He’s older now, happier, he wakes to a loving partner and soon to be husband everyday. He has nothing to fear, silly dreams shouldn’t leave grown men shivering in the kitchen on an early morning weekend. 

_ Pathetic.  _

If his grip on the counter wasn’t tight enough, it definitely is now. 

“Pathetic.” He repeats to himself, speech quivering and dry. His voice bounces off the wall, syllables etching into Suga’s mind. The weight of his body, the weight of the word, the weight of his dream crash onto Suga and he topples to the floor. Knees knock against the floor and digs his fingers to the cracks of their tiled floor. 

Moisture breaks through the man’s eyes like a burst dam, teeth bared and he can taste the salt. Guttery, wrenchy sobs wrack through his body. Whimpers drowning out the silent rush of cars outside, the click of the door opening and the soft footsteps. Sugawara hadn’t realised how cold he felt until arms wrapped around his torso, skin sticking to skin. Sugawara sniffs as he drags his fingers down the arms, edging them to pull away. But they don’t, they hold him tighter and pull him closer. 

The feeling of warmth, comfort. Something he didn’t feel in the still vivid nightly ordeal. The hands didn’t touch him the way these did. These hands don’t grapple and graze him, no, they smooth circles onto his back. Tender, they tread just right. They feel like,

“Tooru,” Sugawara whines as he feels another rush of tears streaming down his cheeks, onto Oikawa’s bare shoulders. Said man lets out a responsive hum and tangles his fingers into Suga’s hair, the pads of his fingers brush against his scalp soothingly. 

“Let it all out, babe.”

And Sugawara does. Face buried in the crevice of Oikawa’s broad neck he bawls and he bawls until his eyes run dry and his throat rubs raw. He lays there pressed flush against Oikawa’s chest, wet cheeks stick to his chest and Suga can hear his heartbeat. 

Does his heartbeat race when he sees someone who isn’t Suga? Does he dream like Suga does? Or does he lay there in his slumber devoid of terrors and wake to temporary akinesis? Has his definition of sweet dreams changed from volleyball championships to life with someone better, so much better, than Suga? 

“Koushi,” Oikawa begins, voice careful and calm. “What’s going on, darling?” 

The weight resting on Suga’s scalp lifts and long fingers cup his damp cheeks, lifting Suga’s face from Oikawa’s chest. Suga sends him a water glare through glistening, pewter lashes. 

“Koushi,” he says. His speech is groggy and hoarse, a slight husky tinge goes with it. Morning voices are sexy to some, not to Suga. Oikawa’s morning voice sounds like a failing car engine, but the thought of someone other than Suga waking up to that voice makes him want to hurl last night’s dinner. Slightly calloused palms reach around Suga’s wrist and haul him up. He feels limp, and leans his body onto Oikawa’s muscular and larger frame. He’s seated at the kitchen table, back slumped against the back of the chair, picking at the skin around his nails.

Oikawa fills a glass with water, shoulders hunched over the sink. He glances over his shoulder to take a good look at his fiance. Suga has dried snot on his shirt and his eyes are red. Oikawa loves Sugawara’s eyes, honey copper with the tiniest embers of amber. He loves the way they glisten, when Suga finds something pleasing. When they sparkle, when he proposed to Suga, three months ago. When they twinkle, they always twinkle. Sugawara is far from dull, always filled with life and laughter. But the Suga seated at their kitchen table, eyes red rimmed and so very devoid of life. Empty eyes that don’t glisten with the joy of living, but with tears. 

Oikawa isn’t a stupid man, contrary to what some may say. He observes, analyses. Far from a genius off the court but the mannerisms of his soon-to-be husband have been etched into his mind since he met the silver haired male over ten years ago. He knows Sugawara isn’t the easiest sleeper, he’s been sharing a bed with the man for over nine years! He knows how frequently Suga has been getting out of bed in early hours of the day or late hours of the night, he feels the shift in his bed almost daily now. But to find his darling lover sobbing his heart out at six in the morning, it hurts Oikawa. It pulls on his heartstrings to see Suga, his dear Sugawara, in this state. Oikawa rubs the reminiscent sleep from his eyes, he hasn’t even brushed his teeth yet. He awoke to cries and sobs, Sugawara Koushi is the only thing on his mind, morning routines can wait. 

The chair creaks at as Oikawa pulls it out, the sound seems to pull Suga out of his trance as the male looks up at him, dark circles lay sunken and prominent under his doe-like eyes. Oikawa places the glass of water on the table, pushing it towards Suga. The silence is almost frightening. They hear every breath, every sound. Suga takes long languid sips of the water, relishing in the coolness it provides for the scorch in his throat. The silence is only broken when something catches in Sugawara’s throat, causing him to splutter and choke. Oikawa rushes over to his side of the table, instantly dropping to the shorter male’s side to deliver firm pats to his back. The silence that follows the outburst is even worse than the first, awkward even. Sugawara sniffs. Oikawa delicately takes Suga’s slim hand in his, thumb drawing over his knuckles. The walls that Sugawara Koushi has constructed so carefully over the course of three months come tumbling down, all with the soft brush of Oikawa Tooru’s touch. 

“I had a dream,” he begins. “A nightmare, actually.”

Oikawa hums, hastily pressing his lips against Sugawara’s hand.

“How bad was it?” Oikawa’s question is muffled against Suga’s skin.

“It- It was pretty bad, Tooru. I mean hell,” Sugawara lets out a humourless chuckle “You’ll probably think its pretty childish. Someone my age crying over silly nightmares-”

“Darling,” the taller male interrupts him “I’d never think that, Koushi. You know I think- hell, I know, that you’re the strongest person out there.” He presses a firm squeeze to Sugawara’s hand, eliciting a sigh from the man. He pulls Sugawara closer, engulfing him in a tight embrace. Suga mutters something, chin perched on Oikawa’s shoulder. 

“It’s hard.” Birdsong chirps outside as the neighbourhood seems to come to life. “Its hard being a strong person, Tooru. It’s- It’s difficult, especially now.” 

The embrace loosens and Oikawa spares a glance at Sugawara. His eyes are drier, his eyebrows relaxed. Lips a darker shade of red from the incessant gnawing. 

Comfort and safety lights a spark within him, igniting to a full fledged blaze. The recollection of the night terrors, old and new, spill from Sugawara’s lips. Every detail, hands, grabs, blood. The sight he saw at the very table they’re sat on, the height chart, the faceless woman. Sugawara’s wedding ring. It rains oceans, waters that stream three months of uncertainties and insecurities. He lays his thoughts true and bare to Oikawa. 

Suga expects a laugh, maybe a mock. Maybe the affirmation that Sugawara has gone mad. The realisation that Oikawa deserves someone better, better than Suga. What he doesn’t expect, is a soft kiss pressed to his lips. 

“Never,” He whispers against Suga’s lips. “Never think that you are not good enough, Sugawara Koushi.” 

It isn’t the words that cause the river of uncertainty and insecurity to run dry, but the look, that Oikawa gives. Oh, that look. His eyes speak poems, sonnets and odes. His touch so graceful, so beautiful. Words of admiration, they don’t physically spill out, they float around in the air to caress Sugawara with promises of fulfilment and reassurance. Of love and devotion. 

Oh, to be Oikawa. To see such heaven in the early hours of the day, un-brushed teeth and a rumpled up shirt. A fond smile plays out on the said heaven’s lips and the glimmer of a thousand moons glint in his eyes. Sparkling life and joy that it is Sugawara Koushi. And Oikawa would tread the seas, skies and stars to help Sugawara himself see that. 

“This won’t stop the nightmares though, Tooru.”

“It’ll take time, love.”

“How long are you willing to wait?”

“Time has no boundaries as long as i’m with you, Koushi.”

  
“I’m sorry for ruining our morning.”

“Nonsense. I’ll fight the bad dreams for you, forever and always.” 

Delicate and honest words, spoken with the upmost admiration. The oceans of insecurities and doubts run dryer and dryer by the second, Sugawara likes to call it love’s drought. 

**Author's Note:**

> ahh u made it to the end  
> i hope you enjoyed it, its a been a pretty shitty week so it was fun to write  
> i may not be happy with the end results but im definitely happy you took the time to read it  
> comments, kudos and criticism are always welcome  
> have a lovely day/night<3  
> asdfghjk i didnt even put the accents on fiance i cba let me die


End file.
